The Cool Dad (A Calvin Recker Mystery Novel)- Chapter 5

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Dear Readers,

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Here's Chapter 5.

5

But I don’t find Henry Newcombe at the pool or the playground.

After a half day of searching, I find him and Max at the circulation desk of the Hatchet Public Library filling out applications for their library cards. It wasn’t some big clue that led me to the library. I was headed there anyway since our books were about to be overdue. The fine on ten overdue books about trains is no joke.

Henry’s wearing a sun-weathered light blue V-neck T-shirt with one side casually tucked into khaki shorts held up by well-tenderized leather belt. Max stands next to him in a red Angry Birds T-shirt and shorts, holding a stack of Jordan Jetpack chapter books.

I’m sitting in the children’s section with Daisy in my lap and Ryan sitting criss-cross applesauce-style next to me as the librarian who might be pushing two hundred years old sits on a stool and reads a book in front of me, my children and five other kids.

My sexy librarian fantasy is officially squashed.

She finishes the book about a skateboarding radish called Rad the Radish and picks up another picture book and holds it up.

“This next book is a very special book,” she says. “It’s about two plucky little squirrels named Seymour and Simon. The title is I Love Nuts.”

She turns the book around to show the illustration on the first page of two squirrels sitting on a tree branch next to a hollowed-out knob.

She reads, “‘I’m hungry, Seymour. Do you have anything to eat?’ Simon asks. ‘All I have to eat is this big pile of nuts. Would you like to see them?’ Seymour responds.”

The librarian turns the page to show the kids an illustration of the pile of acorns.

“‘I don’t like nuts. I don’t like to eat them,’ says Simon.”

“‘I love nuts,’ says Seymour. ‘There is nothing I like to eat more than nuts. Sometimes I eat one. And sometimes I eat two.’”

Um.

“‘Don’t these nuts look delicious?’ Seymour adds.”

“‘They do look good,’ says Simon. ‘But I just don’t want to put them in my mouth.’”

A loud laugh comes from behind me. I turn my heard around and see Henry Newcombe standing just outside the story time circle. I give him a “Do you believe this shit?” look.

The librarian presses on. “Nuts. Nuts. I love nuts.”

She turns the page.

“Big.”

She turns the page.

“Chewy.”

She turns the page.

“Brown.”

I whip my head around back at Henry and we both mouth the word “brown” and shake our heads.

The librarian turns the page and reads, “Nuts. Why don’t you try my nuts?”

Oh, god. Oh, god. I look back at Henry Newcombe and he’s hyperventilating over a diorama display case. I can’t stop the giggles and Daisy’s bouncing up and down on my lap as I laugh. The kids, mind you, are oblivious, and just want to keep hearing about the squirrels.

The ancient librarian shoots me a look like she wants to issue me an afterschool detention. I try to bury my head into Daisy’s shoulder, but I’m still shaking.

The librarian continues, “No thank you. I just don’t have a taste for nuts. Do you have anything else in that little hole of yours I can eat?”

That’s it! Henry and I are D-O-N-E done. Def Comedy Jam audience done.

The librarian tries to ignore our howls of laughter and pushes through to the last page. “Then Seymour Squirrel peers deep into the hole and pulls out a plate and says, ‘Sure. How about spaghetti and meatballs?’”

“‘Yum,’ says Simon Squirrel. ‘I love meatballs!’”

She turns the page and shows off the illustration of the two squirrels sharing a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

She closes the book and says, “The end.”

Ryan says, “Good end,” which is what he says instead of “the end” when we read books together at bedtime.

 “That is the end of story time,” the librarian says. “I hope you little boys and girls enjoyed the books. I know at least two big boys enjoyed it.”

The librarian eases her way up from her stool and hands out stickers to the kids. She collects her books and trudges back to the circulation desk of the children’s section. But then she turns quickly and looks in the direction of Henry and me.

And winks at us.

Henry looks at me. I look at Henry.

Our jaws are on the ground.

“Certainly a curious selection for story time,” Henry says to me.

“Could have been worse,” I say. “Last week she read Yo Llama’s So Fat.”

We both laugh. I realize that this is my meet-cute moment!

“I’ve seen you at the pool, right?” Henry says.

“Yeah. Stable Bluff. I think we actually live right down the street from each other. I’m at two-fifteen Breeders,” I say.

“Two-thirty-five. Looks like we’re pretty much neighbors. I’m Henry Newcombe and the chatterbox next to me is Max. Say hello, Max.”

Max doesn’t say hello and just looks down at his books.

“That’s okay,” I say. “Kids hate forced politeness.” I look down at Ryan and say, “Ryan, say hello to Mr. Newcombe.”

Ryan looks up at Henry, then looks back over to me and says, “I gotta go potty.”

“Right now?”

“Really bad!”

“Just pee-pee?” I ask hopefully.

“No. Pee-pee AND poo-poo.”

There are many upsides to successfully potty training your child, but their impulse with 100 percent accuracy to visit the most disgusting public restrooms we’re within shouting distance of is not one of them. Seriously, who drops a deuce in a public library except a homeless person? If I were homeless and had to go, the public library would be my first stop.

Henry smiles at me and says, “Good luck, neighbor.”

My meet-cute moment is over and I didn’t even get a chance to find out anything about the man other than he lives down the street from me, which is something I already knew. I force a smile at Henry as he waves goodbye, and I death march my battalion off to the men’s restroom.